


Colors of the Rainbow

by dhgones



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Fluff, just so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhgones/pseuds/dhgones
Summary: Maura and Jane finally fly that rainbow flag, all thanks to some art supplies. One-shot, Rizzles fluff.





	Colors of the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Rights belong to TNT & Tess Gerritsen. No copyright infringement intended.

**Colors of the Rainbow**

An afternoon of chasing after T.J. has left Maura bone-tired and bolstered in a way she didn’t know possible. There had been a time in her life when quiet was all she knew, but after years of watching the Rizzoli family grow into an extension of her own, it was a state that she had both come to long for, and to fear. Quiet usually meant trouble, but on this afternoon, the sound of a sock-clad Jane returning to the kitchen meant that her friend’s nephew was successfully napping. And that they could relax for at least an hour or two.

“Whatchya workin’ on?” Jane asks, sliding onto a stool next to Maura and craning her neck to catch view of the doctor’s work.

“Just finishing up my drawing,” she states simply, sliding the paper closer for Jane’s inspection. “T.J. and I were drawing our families. Coincidentally, they’re largely the same.”

Jane begins to make a sound of sentiment, but instead yanks the paper away upon noticing the dark-haired figure in the blonde’s drawing.

“That is _not_ me!” Jane protests, and then jokingly, “I am much, much prettier.”

Maura’s eyes sparkle with a retort, but she voices no challenge. She cannot lie. “Are you questioning my abilities as an artist?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You think you could do better?” Maura teases.

“Without question. I could be a sketch artist if I wanted,” Jane says with a confidence that Maura finds equal parts unwarranted and endearing.

“Be my guest, Detective,” Maura offers playfully, sliding a piece of paper along the counter.

The brunette eyes her friend warily, sizing up the challenge before pulling the supplies closer to the middle. Jane rolls a marker thoughtfully between fingers, reviewing it thoroughly before uncapping it with a swift pop. “Scented,” she grins gleefully, letting Maura bask in the playful shine of her smile.

The moment makes Maura wish she had known the detective as a child, when she was an even bonier mess of skinned knees, raven curls, and principles not yet well worn. She longs to see that elation on small, angular features, and an unbridled piece of her mind ignores musings of past Janes and dreams instead of a new child. One that exists in her imagination and is inexplicably parts of them both: lanky limbs, hazel eyes, dark hair that falls in loose waves, always Jane’s smile.  

The detective has not noted her internal reverie, “Want a whiff?”

Nor does she wait for reply. 

Maura’s nose crinkles in disgust as Jane thrusts a red tip under her face. The sickly, sweet smell of artificial cherry hits her nostrils long before the marker has neared her nose, and she makes no show of inhaling before she gives a thin reply of, “delicious.”

“You didn’t even smell it,” Jane scoffs, jabbing the marker closer. Maura is about to shake her head in protest when she sees the brunette’s eyes flash with worrisome mischievousness. Before the doctor has time to place any distance between them, Jane has pressed the marker to the base of Maura’s nose, tracing a diagonal line down to the blonde’s lip as Maura jerks her head away. They are silent for a moment, the Medical Examiner’s eyes wide and staring, the detective’s spirited, if not a bit sheepish.

“Jane Clementine Rizzoli,” she begins, and though she intends for her voice to be stern, she cannot help the trace of a smile that plays at her lips. The forced authority is enough to send her friend into hysterics, and Maura watches in earnest disbelief as Jane’s head falls back, face to the ceiling and laughter shaking her ribs. If it were anyone else, any one at all, Maura would be angered. But Jane is like no one she has ever known, no one she ever cares to know. Jane is just Jane. And so—given the company—Maura finds herself doing something decidedly Rizzoli-like.

In one swift motion she has lifted the purple marker in her hand to the detective’s cheek, allowing a flick of her wrist to drag a steady line across olive skin. She cannot help the chuckle that bubbles from her chest as she watches Jane’s posture straighten in response. Scarred hands pressing flatly to the counter-top—steadying, as if the world may be a little wobbly.

“You did not just do that,” her voice is gravely, but Maura can see the pure delight in dark features. Her friend loves nothing more than a challenge, and the doctor has just given consent for the games to truly begin. “Oh, it’s on.”

With a squeal of delight Maura throws herself back from the counter, narrowly avoiding sending the stool toppling to the floor. She hears Jane’s sound of surprise at her back, and sets her sights on the hallway, hoping to take advantage of her slight head start and to find refuge behind a bedroom door. But the detective has closed the distance in merely a stride, and Maura feels her feet momentarily leave the ground as Jane’s left arm wraps fully around her waist, drawing her tightly to the taller woman’s chest.

“Not so fast, Doctor Isles,” she growls into Maura’s ear. The tone is still playful, but the way hot breath tickles her neck makes the blonde go weak in the knees. She is so close she can feel Jane’s breasts flush against her back, can track the steady rise and fall of her chest. A contact Maura finds she misses desperately when the taller woman leans away to reach for a marker on the counter.

“Please, Jane,” she nearly whispers, but she is no longer sure of what she is asking.

The brunette uncaps the marker roughly with her teeth, spitting the cap to the side.

The detective’s grasp loosens incrementally as she pulls back to gaze into the blonde’s face. Her eyes are kind and gentle, studying the doctor to make sure she has not crossed a line. The care is not lost on Maura, nor is the way Jane holds the marker loosely between fingers, never wielding it like a scalpel or knife. The blonde wonders if her friend is aware of how she takes care to spare the doctor of pain or worry, or if the actions are involuntary, a second nature to the detective.

“Nuh, uh. You asked for it,” she adds with a chuckle. Maura is about to protest when she feels Jane spin her outwards, capturing her wrists between the long, lean fingers of a single hand, and drawing their bodies close together. Nearly chest to chest. “I think this green will complement your eyes wonderfully, Maura” she purrs.

From the corner of her eye she can see the marker drawing closer, but all the doctor can focus on is the subtle part between the detective’s lips and the way they hum at the start of her name. She is so enthralled that she barely registers the contact at the bridge of her nose until it has trailed to the tip. Her jaw drops at the audacity of this woman.

“Ja-aane,” it is a whine that is punctuated with a stomp of her foot, but all the brunette does is laugh.

“Maur-aaa,” she mimics, offering a smile as an apology, but maintaining a hold on the smaller woman’s arms. “You really shouldn’t have started something you weren’t willing to finish. All I’ve done is red and green—still need the rest of the rainbow,” she winks, reaching blindly to her side for another marker.

“Jane, I’m serious, what if this doesn’t wash off?”

“I know it will. At least eventually. You may play the part, but you’re not so carefree as to buy TJ anything other than washable markers for this house.”

Maura sighs, deciding on another route. “What if I had plans tonight?”

“Seeing someone?” Jane asks with a cock of her head, and then, before reply, “Make-up. Besides, I’m only making you more beautiful.” She pauses to look at the marker in her hand, “I think this yellow will do nicely.”

Maura knows that she could put an end to this, a simple tug of her wrists would signal the conclusion of their game. But she finds that she is captivated by their proximity, by Jane’s lavender scent and the cloudy look of desire in dark eyes. A look that the blonde hopes is not merely a reflection of what has settled in her own. She knows that she has equal control in this song and dance, she simply wishes it was a routine that would leave her face less colorful.

“Jane,” she warns, but even she can hear how inauthentic the tone sounds, and she watches as Jane moves the marker closer to the side of her face.

“If you want me to stop, make me.”

She reads the challenge for what it is: an opening to pull away. To restart the chase, and for Jane to maybe let Maura gain control, to wield the power. But she is the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. She does not need Jane Rizzoli to choreograph a misstep in order to wrestle the upper-hand. She can do that entirely on her own. And so, tired of waiting—of sustaining herself on lingering glances and grazing touches—she does just that.  

Without missing a beat, Maura fully closes the distance between their bodies, raising on her toes to capture Jane’s lower lip in her own.  She tastes better than the doctor could have ever imagined, like coffee beans, and vanilla, and maybe a little bit of metal.  It is intoxicating, an unimaginable drug, and she thinks she could do it forever.

For a moment, she fears that the kiss will not be returned, Jane’s immediate response a sharp intake of breath through her nose. But just as Maura begins to pull away she feels the detective press downwards, the marker left to fall to the floor as a strong hand moves to cradle golden locks, pulling them tighter. The kiss closer, deeper, harder.  The moan that escapes the blonde’s lips is one that has been building for years, a low sound that rings of desire and trust and desperation in her own ears.  When she feels the vibration of Jane’s matching growl against her lips, Maura feels as though she might melt into a puddle right on her kitchen floor. She has begun to wonder if she has ceased needing oxygen when Jane breaks their contact, pulling back to let chocolate eyes wander every inch of Maura’s face.

Breathless, Jane stammers, “That’s one way to get me to stop.”

Maura chuckles, a twinkle in her eye, “Oh, I think we’ve just started.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: *Cringe* The fluff. The cheese. There was a lot, I know. Might do a follow up, got a little feedback about tasting the rainbow, if you catch my drift. But for now this is a stand-alone piece, just something I threw together this afternoon to avoid my real responsibilities. Happy Thursday!


End file.
